


If Stalking Was Cute

by PickledDeath



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickledDeath/pseuds/PickledDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If stalking was cute, this is what it might look like. During a run in with Killer Croc, Damian is saved by Red Robin and his Titans. This changes his whole opinion of Timothy Drake and starts him on a mission to rebuild his relationship with his fellow crime fighter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Stalking Was Cute

**Author's Note:**

  * For [varevare (varebanos)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/varebanos/gifts).



> I've set this in the future slightly, with Damian being 15 and Tim being around 21 (I think?) I sort of ignored Forever Evil, so Dick is still Nightwing. Also, no mention of Damian dying, let's just pretend he was resurrected w/o issue?

Damian hit the ground hard before he got the chance to recover with a roll. He heard more than felt the snap as his collarbone folded under the pressure. The young sidekick bit down on a sound of pain and curled into a protective ball instinctively.

A deep throated laugh sounded from above him, the sound scraping its way out of a distorted throat. Damian struggled into a crouch and pressed a gloved hand to his chest over his broken collarbone. The contact made pain screech through him, but he couldn’t resist the urge to protect his injury.

Killer Croc loomed over him, the bulk of his body blocking out the light of the moon flooding into the drain pipe behind him. The rancid water rushing around their feet shone as it caught the light, made beautiful in the half light. The pipe was made of metal, though it was so encrusted with filth and worn by time that no shine was left to it. The atmosphere was cold. It was mid-December and the water that rushed around their feet was icy.

“Poor little bird,” Killer Croc laughed, his teeth shining as his scaled lips curled back off of them. “Did you break your wing?” he sneered.

Damian grimaced and scoffed (“Tt!”), but knew that he was in trouble. He had strayed out of the range of his father’s advanced comm system. He imagined he must be far to the south of Gotham now, almost outside of the city limits. Damian had tracked Killer Croc with his usual amount of enthusiasm after catching a glimpse of him during a solo patrol. He was now severely missing having a companion to hold him back. If he hadn’t been alone, there might have been someone to stop him from following Croc so far out of his comfort zone.

Killer Croc advanced toward him, one clawed hand out and reaching for him. Damian imagined that he probably had the strength to crack his skull with the strength of his hand alone. Damian shuffled backward and his arm swung limply at his side, pulling painfully at his collarbone.

Damian glanced nervously at what space was left to the left and right of Killer Croc and then at the space between his feet. He would need to try and escape, as much as it hurt his pride to admit it. It would be dishonorable, but if he escaped and lived to fight another day he could work to regain his honor from the scaled monster.

The tenacious Robin knew his only option would be to try and escape into the bay behind Killer Croc. There wasn’t enough room to dodge around him, so Damian tensed and prepared to throw himself between the villain’s legs and run for the end of the pipe where it emptied into the bay. He hoped that he didn’t have a compound fracture. Getting the polluted bay water into any open wound was never something to be desired.

“Step away from the kid, freak!” a young sounding voice called from behind him.

Before Damian could blink, an obnoxiously yellow and red figure was standing in front of him. Damian immediately recognized the form of Kid Flash in front of him, acting like a human shield between Damian and Killer Croc.

Damian instantly regretted not throwing himself into the bay sooner.

Kid Flash stood with his hands on his hips and his head thrown back to regard the huge form of Killer Croc in front of him. Damian watched Croc blink in confusion for a moment before growling and lunging at Kid Flash, his claws out and curved to rend.

“Whoah!” Kid yelled before dodging out of the way in a flash of yellow, leaving Damian frozen in disbelief behind him.

Damian fell backward, water sloshing around and over him as he frantically tried to move out of Killer Croc’s way. Before the villain could sink his claws into Damian’s flesh, there was a blur of sparkling red in front of him and Croc was flying backward with the strength of his rescuer’s upper cut.

The wet and broken Robin struggled to pull himself out of the water with only one useable arm. When he opened his eyes he found himself staring up at Wonder Girl. She looked beautiful and unruffled despite obviously having been slogging through the sewers like himself. She held a hand out to him, her curly blond hair shining around her like a halo.

“Need some help, kid?” she asked.

Damian sneered at her outstretched hand. “Metas,” he scoffed.

“Excuse me?” Wonder Girl asked, a hard edge coming into her voice that wasn’t there before.

“Look out!” a voice called from behind them, before Damian could elaborate on his opinion.

A heavy weight crashed into Wonder Girl from behind, throwing her forward. Damian was able to get his feet back under himself in time to dodge out of the way. Killer Croc had thrown the speedster Kid Flash into Wonder Girl and they both went crashing down into the sluggish sewer water while Damian dodged to the left.

The water slowed and his injury slowed Damian down, but he hoped that he could still make it to the opening into the bay. Once there, he may be able to swim until his communicator picked up a signal.

He certainly wasn’t going to trust his rescue to the Teen Titans. They were only proving again to be the stumbling fools he always knew them to be. Maybe if he was lucky Killer Croc would eat all of them and nobody would have to know his shame of being rescued by them in the first place.

Damian’s foot had just landed on the slick edge of the drain when he was physically yanked backward by a hand on his cape. He stumbled, his center of gravity thrown off as he tipped backward toward Red Robin, who had his yellow and black cape held in his fist. Red Robin’s expression was angry, his lips thin and turned down in the corners.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tim snapped, holding a struggling Damian up by his hold on his cape. “That water is below freezing. You’ll die faster out there than in here.”

“So says you. Let go of me!” Damian yelped, trying to reach around with one hand and knock Drake off and also regain his balance. He was failing miserably at both.

Tim opened his mouth to reply, but paused with his mouth open as the sound of crashing water and a building roar announced Killer Croc’s final charge toward the two Robins balancing on the precipice of the drain pipe.

Before Damian could react, he was thrown out of the way by Tim. Consequently, Tim barely had enough time to throw his hands up and protect his face before the huge monster crashed into him and threw the both of them out of the drain pipe and twelve feet down to the freezing cold water of the bay below.

Damian scrambled on his knees toward the edge. He got there just in time to see Tim and Killer Croc break the surface of the water with a huge splash. Luckily, the bay hadn’t yet frozen over, but ice still crusted along the edges of the water.

The young Robin’s heart beat frantically in his chest as his eyes searched for any indication of Red Robin. His head was swimming, a thick confusion clouding his thoughts that he wasn’t used too. Why had Tim thrown him out of the way? Tim knew that the water below was freezing, that hypothermia would set in quickly. Not to mention that Killer Croc had the advantage in the water. There were so many reasons why it was incredibly stupid to not get out of way before Killer Croc could tackle him into the water. Damian had never seen Tim act so ... heroic?

While Damian’s mind boggled, Tim resurfaced from the dark oily looking water below. Around him, still under the water, was a dangerous looking shadow swimming in circles beneath the surface.

The younger Robin heard the remaining two Teen Titans sloshing about in the water behind him, snapping at each other. He thought they probably hadn’t even noticed that their third member was missing, too busy trying to disentangle themselves from one another. If Damian’s eyes weren’t so riveted on the scene below, he probably would have given the two young heroes a generous scowl of disgust.

Damian fumbled to pull a small knife from his utility belt, one of many he kept on his person. They could be lethal, but he would have to hit with unerring accuracy a vital pressure point to actually kill someone. Damian could definitely achieve that kind of precision, but his father allowed him to keep the knives on the understanding that he would have to attack with the intent to kill to do so and the trust that Damian would not do so. Damian was grateful that he had been able to prove himself to his father enough to be allowed to carry them in the years since he became Robin. They were all he currently had to mount an attack at mid to long range.

Damian’s fingers were already turning numb around the metal, the cold brackish water in his gloves turning his limbs to ice.

“Where’s Tim?” Damian heard Kid Flash ask just as the dark shadow circling Tim in the water finally burst up from beneath, arms thrown wide and ready to pull Red Robin under the water and out of Damian’s reach.

Damian let his knife fly and hoped it would fly true. He was hampered by the numbness in his fingers and a crawling coldness and light headed feeling throughout the rest of his body. He could only hope that his rigorous training would not fail him.

The knife did indeed fly true. It spun through the cold air, whispering slightly as it sliced through the cold atmosphere, and struck Killer Croc in the eye causing him to howl in pain and writhe backward clutching his wounded face.

The other two Teen Titans must have heard Killer Croc’s howl of pain and put the pieces together. Damian caught a flash of red dart past him before he saw Wonder Girl fly down to Tim and pluck him out of the icy cold bay. She lifted him by his armpits back to the drain pipe and put him down on the edge. He stood dripping into the water flowing around his feet, but otherwise seemed unaffected by the cold.

Damian struggled to bring himself to his feet. Tim wordlessly reached out to steady him with a hand on his arm which Damian shook off with a snarl.

“Why did you do that?” Damian snapped.

When Tim remained quiet, Kid Flash appeared as his shoulder, his mouth twisted in a disbelieving smile. “What, save you?” he asked, laughing.

“Yes!” Damian replied. “I needed no assistance.”

Wonder Girl sniffed from her spot behind Red Robin. “It certainly looked like you needed it from here,” she commented dryly.

Tim leaned in close, his face only a few inches from Damian. The younger hero leaned back and bared his teeth in defiance. Tim sniffed, his nose actually twitching a little with the movement. Damian expected to hear a comment on his smell, especially considering that he had been tracking Killer Croc through the sewers of Gotham for hours.

Instead, Tim stood straight and said, “You’re bleeding.”

Damian frowned back at Tim, confusion taking the edge off of his anger. “I am not. Your head is damaged from your fall, obviously,” Damian replied with distaste.

Deciding that he was quite done with Drake and the confusing emotions he evoked, Damian turned on his heel and started to walk deeper into the sewers in the hopes of finding an exit and summoning some form of transportation to take him back to the Manor. He didn’t get far before he felt a hand close on his upper arm and yank him backward, causing pain to ripple through his torso from his broken collarbone.

Damian bit down on a groan of pain and a venomous curse as his body bowed obediently toward Tim in an attempt to take the pressure off of his arm and therefore his broken collarbone.

“You’re injured,” Tim said, sounding exasperated. He quickly let go of Damian’s arm.

Since there was no longer any use trying to hide his injury, Damian held his bad arm to his side and bowed his shoulders slightly.

“It is just a broken bone,” Damian replied coldly. “I have dealt with much worse. Furthermore, this night has been miserable and you will be gratified to know I intend to return home at once.”

“You can’t go by yourself, you’re bleeding. You’ll pass out before you get to the surface,” Tim replied without emotion.

“I am not bleeding!” Damian burst out.

Tim didn’t react to Damian’s outburst. Instead, he reached forward dispassionately and quickly flipped open the complicated clasp on the front of Damian’s tunic and pulled the fabric away from his shoulder before Damian could more than growl at the other Robin in warning. As Tim pulled the fabric away, it caught on something that made pain flash through Damian’s body and his vision flash white briefly. Damian consciously locked his knees to prevent them from going out from under him.

Kid Flash and Wonder Girl gasped and looked away with similar cries of surprise and disgust. Damian looked down at his shoulder, his head still swimming, and saw the white of bone, the bright red of flesh and the strange orange viscera of fatty tissue gleaming back at him in a wet mess of water and blood.

Damian turned to Tim with a frown, but decided against saying anything, both because he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound incredibly lame in this situation and was afraid that he might slur whatever words he spoke anyway, which would be worse. He didn’t know how the previous Robin could tell that he was bleeding when even he didn’t know it through the haze of adrenaline and cold. He refused to believe he actually smelled his blood in the fetid air.

Tim closed Damian’s tunic more carefully this time, doing up the clasp with a practiced movement of his hand.

“Compound fracture,” Tim said grimly. He turned back to his two companions. “Wonder Girl, could you fly Damian to the North side of Gotham? I’ll call ahead to Batman and he should be waiting there to pick him up.”

“Uh, I have to talk to Batman?” she asked hesitantly, looking like she’d rather go swimming in the sewer. She probably did.

Tim’s lips quirked slightly in the corner. “You don’t have to talk to him. He probably won’t want to talk to you. Just stand there and make sure Robin doesn’t pass out.”

“Tt,” Damian clicked his tongue in disagreement. He stared at Tim, glad that his mask and white out lenses hid whatever expression was there.

He wanted to say something to the other Robin. He wanted to ask him why he risked his own well being to throw him out of the way. Was he just more heroic and selfless than Damian? Or, did Tim just fear retribution from his father? He wanted to ask Tim how he could tell that he was injured and bleeding. Was he actually able to discern the scent of blood under the smell of sewer? Or, did some tell in Damian’s body language give it away? He didn’t even know what the three Titans were doing in the Gotham sewers, not that he really cared to find out.

Despite the cold in the air, the chill of freezing rancid water all over him and his dropping core body temperature caused by blood loss, Damian felt warm and he thought it might be Tim’s fault.

* * *

Damian suffered through the remains of the night silently. He suffered through being carried bridal style across the Gotham skyline by a buxom blond superheroine. He suffered through his father awkwardly thanking an equally awkward Wonder Girl. He suffered a laborious ride home in which his father alternated between trying to offer him painkillers and chide him for striking off after Killer Croc without first calling for backup. He even kept his silence while the butler, Pennyworth, set his broken collarbone and stitched together his broken skin.

It wasn’t until the sun was tinging the sky a soft pink and Damian was sitting at the kitchen island fighting off sleep that he finally broke his own self imposed silence.

“Pennyworth?” he asked quietly, his voice scratchy with disuse.

The butler was across from Damian, fussing with something in the kitchen. Damian couldn’t really remember how he had arrived in the kitchen, why he was there or what Alfred was doing, though he had an impression that the butler had lead him there and told him something. He regretted accepting the painkillers from the kindly butler and the effect they had on his usually tight control of himself, even if they did take away the pain.

“Yes, Master Damian?” Alfred replied, turning around with raised eyebrows and a mildly surprised expression on his face. Damian pushed himself to take notice of what the older man was doing. He had a tin of what looked like cocoa in one hand and a tea kettle in the other. That meant that he was making hot chocolate for him, a comfort food usually only whipped up after he’d had a fight with his father.

“Drake saved me tonight,” Damian responded flatly, still carefully considering the cocoa tin in Pennyworth’s hand.

Alfred frowned a little deeper at his young charge. “Yes, your father mentioned that. He and the Teen Titans, correct?” Alfred responded.

“Some of them,” Damian mumbled. When Alfred continued to look at Damian expectantly, he continued. “I thought Drake hated me as much as I despised him.”

Alfred sighed and closed his eyes briefly before carefully sitting the tin on the counter and turning to face Damian fully. “First, I don’t believe Timothy would have let you come to any harm if he could help it, regardless of his personal feelings about you. Second, I don’t believe that he hates you as much as I don’t believe that you really hate him.”

“I tried to kill him when I first met him,” Damian muttered, resting his chin on his hand and staring morosely at the countertop in front of him. He tried move his other hand up to lay on top of the counter until he remembered that it was tied tightly to his chest. He didn’t enjoy the numbness even if he enjoyed not being in pain.

“That was nearly five years ago,” the butler replied with a small amount of exasperation tinging his words. “The both of you have grown and changed with time. I’m sure Tim no longer begrudges you for your ... youthful indiscretions,” Alfred landed on after some wavering.

Damian looked up at the elderly butler. The young Wayne heir’s expression was oddly open, the painkillers and events of the evening softening his normally sharp exterior.

“Do you really think so?” he asked, doubt clear in his voice.

Alfred smiled kindly down at his youngest charge. “Absolutely,” he replied.

* * *

Tim leaned heavily against his door as he fumbled for his keys. It had been a long day, first dealing with the revitalization efforts in parts of downtown Gotham and later trying to track Deathstroke’s path out of Blackgate. Stopping to save Damian from Killer Croc had slowed the Teen Titans and himself down enough that they hadn’t been able to find him when he initially escaped into the sewers. Trying to pick up the trail days later turned out to be completely fruitless.

Now, Tim was left exhausted both mentally and physically, not to mention that he smelled like garbage and a few less fragrant things.

Tim fit his key into his lock, turned it and allowed the weight of his body to push the door open. He stumbled into his kitchen from the back door and tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter where they skidded across the countertop until they ran up against a white pastry box.

Sitting on Tim’s kitchen counter was Damian, his left arm in a blue and white sling and his phone in his free hand. There were a pair of white earbuds running from Damian’s phone to his ears and he pulled them both out as Tim came in. He was sitting right beside the pastry box, so Tim could only assume he had brought it with him.

Tim gave Damian a tired and suspicious look before closing the door carefully behind him. It latched with a muted click.

“What are you doing here?” Tim asked, exasperation thick in his voice.

Damian hopped down from the counter, his movements graceful and controlled despite his injury. He was able to pick up the white box without issue, despite only having one hand working, and balanced it on the top of his palm as he brought it over to Tim.

“Pennyworth absolutely insisted that I bring these bakery items to you,” Damian sniffed, holding the box out to Tim. “He would have been devastated had I been eaten by that monstrosity. I believe he baked these to show you his gratitude.”

Tim eyed the box suspiciously, wondering if it might actually hold a smoke bomb. He wanted to slap it out of Damian’s hand and run away, but he also wanted to shower and go lay face down on his bed for a few hours and he couldn’t do that until he dealt with Damian. Besides, the box was probably actually pastries and it smelled quite good.

Sitting his bag down on the floor beside him, Tim hesitantly took the box from Damian. Damian immediately adopted a smug expression, as if just getting Tim to take the box was a huge achievement. Tim popped the top off the box and looked inside. Sitting in little individual paper wrappers were an assortment of different cream colored pastries. There were croissants, eclairs, macaroons, petit fours and a number of other pastries that Tim didn’t recognize right off the bat.

He felt his eyebrows crawl up his forehead as he looked over the assortment. They were all delicious looking and very elaborate. Alfred’s cooking was amazing, of course, but he had really gone all out for these.

“Wow,” Tim eventually said, after realizing he had been staring at the spread for probably too long without saying anything. “This is really amazing. You’ll have to tell Alfred that he really outdid himself.”

Damian’s smug grin grew until it almost looked obscene. “Consider the message already sent,” he replied.

Tim frowned at the oddly happy teenager for a few moments before awkwardly stepping away from the door and motioning toward the front of the house and the stairs that would lead him to the shower and then to bed. “I’ve had a rough night, so I’m just going to...” Tim trailed off, already edging toward the stairs.

Damian’s face fell, though he seemed to recover quickly. “Of course,” he responded. “I have done my duty. Good day, Drake,” Damian nodded stiffly, before exiting through the back door without a backward glance.

Tim stood stiffly by the door after Damian left. He wondered briefly how the younger hero was going to get home. He wouldn’t be able to take a motorcycle with his arm in a sling. Tim then shook his head. Damian was stupidly resourceful, he was sure that the current Robin would be fine.

Sitting the box of pastries on the counter for later, Tim picked up his bag and continued toward the front of the house, up the stairs and directly into the bathroom. He dropped his bag by the door and stripped out of his civilian clothes before stepping into the shower. He tried his best to just forget Damian and his own crappy day. But, the meeting with the Wayne heir still bothered him. It was so hugely out of character. Tim tried to convince himself that Damian might just be bored. He assumed he would have been benched from being Robin until his collarbone healed. But, Damian had been injured before and it had never resulted in him personally delivering Tim pastries. Not to mention waiting patiently in Tim’s kitchen until Tim got home.

After Tim had toweled off and changed into his pajamas, it was still bothering him. He went down to the kitchen and took another look at the scrumptious looking pastries before picking up his cell phone and calling Alfred.

The elderly butler picked up on the third ring. “Hello, you’ve reached the Wayne residence,” his cultured british accent spoke through the phone.

Tim unconsciously smiled, glad to hear Alfred’s voice. “Hey, Alfred! It’s Tim,” he responded warmly.

“Timothy,” the elder said, welcome familiarity and warmth audible in his voice. “I’m so glad to hear from you. How thoughtful of you to call.”

“I just wanted to thank you for the pastries,” Tim said. “You’re really a wizard in the kitchen, but these still must have taken you forever to bake.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Tim frowned down at the pastry box.

“Master Timothy, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alfred said after a moment.

It was Tim’s turn to be silent as he stared in confusion down at the delicious food sitting on his kitchen counter.

“Okay, let me start over,” he said after a moment. “When I came home tonight, Damian was sitting on my kitchen counter with this box of really fancy pastries beside him. He said that you had asked him to deliver them to me. I’m guessing that’s not what happened?” Tim asked with as little emotion as possible.

Alfred was quiet for a short moment on the other end of the line, before he burst out, “Oh! Oh, yes! Of course, I forgot all about that. You must forgive me, Master Timothy, my memory has become faulty in my old age.”

“Uh huh,” Tim grunted into the phone, frowning down at the suspicious pastries, completely unconvinced.

“I had indeed gone on a bit of a baking spree in the past few days and had quite a few left over. Master Damian had been restlessly wandering around the Manor, so I thought it would do him good to run a small errand for me,” Alfred continued. “Are the pastries not to your liking, Master Timothy?” Alfred asked, putting on what Tim was sure was a sound of faux vulnerability.

“I haven’t tried them yet, but I’m sure they’re delicious. Thanks again, Alf,” Tim responded. They quickly bid farewell to one another, both anxious to get off the phone.

Cautiously, Tim picked up a beautifully decorated eclair. As he lifted the pastry out of the box, he noticed that there was a card lying beneath the pastries at the bottom of the box. Tim carefully edged the paper out from under the other pastries and held it up to the light. Written in elaborate script on a dark brown background were the words ‘La Tropezienne Bakery’ with an address in the business district written in a less elaborate font below.

Tim tapped the card against his palm and stared at the pastries in thought. La Tropezienne was a very high end bakery that he was aware of, but had never bought anything from. Alfred very obviously didn’t bake these pastries, but had wanted to lie and take credit for them anyway.

It was a mystery, one that Tim wanted no part of.

* * *

A few nights later it was raining in Gotham, sheets of rain falling from the sky to scour the city streets and push all the garbage and debris toward the bay.

Tim was perched on the edge of an office building across the street from a large glass skyscraper. His hair was wet and stuck to his face, water sluicing over his suit as he crouched in the shadow of a large air conditioning unit. He his camera held up in front of him, the lense zoomed in and focused on his view of a conference room lit up from inside. A man was sitting at the conference table there, fiddling with his phone as he waited for someone. As Tim watched, the door to the conference room opened and the man stood up to receive his guest. They genially shook hands and Tim snapped a picture, the aperture in his camera flickering briefly as it caught the exchange.

“What are you doing?” a voice asked, disapproval and a slight accent turning the words.

Tim jumped at the sound and nearly dropped his camera, juggling it for a few moments before hugging it to his chest. He turned around quickly with a rustle of his cape to see Robin with his trademark hood pulled up over his head crouched behind him. Tim hadn’t heard him approach, something he was glad Batman hadn’t been there to see.

“What are you doing here?” Tim snapped back, panicked and more than a little angry at himself for not noticing Damian before he could sneak up on him.

“I’m on solo patrol,” Damian replied, a note of pride in his voice.

Tim huffed in exasperation and turned back toward his stake out. He pulled the camera back up to his face and focused the zoom on the illuminated conference room.

“What are you doing?” Damian repeated after a short pause.

“I’m trying to stake out this very illegal meeting between two crooked stock brokers,” Tim replied shortly, hoping that if he wasn’t chatty Damian would get bored and go away.

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “White collar crime,” he said with derision. “Next you’ll be staking out banks that charge too much interest on their credit cards.”

“I don’t need to defend myself to you,” Tim replied blankly. In the conference room, the two business men were sitting at the desk and talking avidly. Tim wished he had been able to plant a wire in the room, but he hadn’t had time to do so before the meeting started. Security on the building was too tight.

“If you find this boring, and I know you do,” Damian said with a small sniff, “I’ve been stalking Clayface since yesterday. I’m sure he’s up to something,” Damian hissed. “I could be convinced to allow you to come along as I hunt him down?”

Tim sighed heavily before dropping his camera again. He turned to Damian and impatiently asked, “Do you need help?”

Damian squawked in indignation and glared at Tim. “Absolutely not! I can easily handle Clayface. I was simply magnanimously offering you an alternative to crouching in the rain all night and accomplishing nothing.”

Making a small sound of indignation himself, Tim glanced back toward the lit up conference room. Outside of documenting that the two men met, he wasn’t sure he could prove that they were actually sharing privileged information. Insider trading was a difficult allegation to prove and he had probably gotten whatever he could for the night. However, that didn’t exactly mean that he wanted to follow behind Robin like a tag along.

“Do you have any idea of what Clayface is up too?” Tim asked tiredly.

“No, though as I said before, I’m sure he’s up to something,” Damian returned confidently.

“Pass,” Tim said blankly, picking up his camera again.

“Tt!” Damian clicked his tongue much more forcefully. “Drake, you are pathetic! You would rather sit in the rain and watch fat wheezing businessmen talk about stock percentages than take down a real villain.”

“You just admitted to me that you don’t even know if he’s doing anything illegal,” Tim sighed.

“I know that he’s been running back and forth between different gang territories and that he’s been changing his appearance when he does so, though I haven’t been able to determine who he’s changing into, if anybody. If that isn’t suspicious, then I certainly don’t know what is,” Damian bit out.

Tim stopped to consider for a moment. While he was loathe to admit Damian was right about anything, those movements did sound suspicious. Tim still thought it was worth working to put the two crooked businessmen he was staking out away. But, it was also true that he had probably already gotten as much dirt on them as he could tonight.

Sighing heavily, Tim started to take apart his camera and put it away.

“Fine, I’ll go with you to investigate Clayface,” Tim emphasized. “But, if we don’t catch him doing anything suspicious, we don’t do anything. Understood?”

Damian grinned at him from beneath his hood, his teeth glowing white in the darkness.

“Absolutely,” he responded.

* * *

“Oh no,” Tim groaned. “No no no.”

“Drake! How surprising to meet you here,” Damian responded, doing a bad job of looking nonchalant.

It was a Saturday and Tim had decided to take the morning off to do some personal chores, one of which was to stop by his local comic book store and pick up his monthlies. For the past two weeks, Damian had been popping up in his house and on his patrols with weak excuses of comparing notes on villains or delivering things for Alfred. But, showing up at Tim’s favorite comic book shop was going a little too far.

“Damian,” Tim snapped. “What are you doing here? You don’t even like comic books.”

“I’ll admit that it is not my usual reading material,” Damian responded. Tim had to give it to him, he didn’t even sound like he was judging comic books or the people that read them. “But, I have been looking for some particular subject matter that this fine gentleman helped me to locate,” Damian explained with a small nod toward the messily kept clerk leaning behind the counter.

The clerk waved vaguely toward Tim with a sleepy smile. “I got him Doctor McNinja,” the clerk added.

“Thanks, Tom,” Tim responded, exasperated.

Damian held up the single comic book issue, which featured a man in a collared dress shirt, black tie, white lab coat and black ski mask punching a dolphin with a laser mounted rifle on its back in the face on the cover. “This is pertinent to my interests,” Damian said in the most serious way possible.

Tim resisted the urge to punch something and instead walked up to the counter where Tom already had his stack of comics bagged up. Tim handed the sleepy clerk his credit card and did his best to ignore Damian as he hovered behind him.

“We now share the interest of comic books,” Damian stated slowly.

“No, we don’t,” Tim quickly replied.

“This should make conversation much easier in the future,” Damian added, ignoring Tim.

“I would prefer not to have any conversations with you in the future,” Tim responded evenly.

“For instance, I am going to ask you what you are reading and we can then begin to strike up a conversation on those grounds.”

Tim stared blankly at Damian, wishing he would take the hint and leave. He only returned Tim’s stare evenly.

“What books are you reading?” Damian enunciated slowly, frowning at Tim.

“Nope,” Tim said impulsively.

He grabbed his credit card back from Tom, tucked his bag of comic books under his arm and turned on his heel toward the door. He was walking purposefully down the cracked Gotham sidewalk before Damian caught up to him.

“You are being extremely unsocialable,” Damian snapped, his lip curling slightly as he hustled to keep up with Tim, his legs and stride significantly shorter than Tim’s’.

“Damian, why are you doing this?” Tim bit out, stopping and turning to frown down at the diminutive Wayne heir.

“Why am I attempting to strike up a conversation with you in regards to our shared interest?” Damian asked incredulously, holding up his ridiculous comic book.

“Yes!” Tim shouted. A few people stepped off the curb to give him a wide berth as they walked around the two boys standing in the middle of the sidewalk. “Why are you buying comic books, and dropping food off at my house and stalking me on my patrols?” Tim asked in equal parts exasperation and anger.

Damian’s face became serious, his thick brows coming down over dark blue eyes. “You are my greatest rival,” Damian intoned solemnly, sending a small shiver down Tim’s back. “I was wrong to dismiss you before. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

This time, Damian was the one to turn on his heel and begin walking away in the opposite direction. Tim was left standing with his mouth hanging slightly agape on the sidewalk.

“That doesn’t ... “ Tim stammered. “That doesn’t even make any sense!” Tim yelled after Damian’s retreating back.

The boy didn’t pause or turn and eventually disappeared around a corner and into the Gotham crowd.

* * *

“Dick, come on! Don’t laugh! I’m really freaking out here,” Tim whined.

Dick had a hand pressed over his mouth as his shoulders heaved with silent laughter. He waved his free hand toward Tim to indicate that he wait a moment.

The two of them were in costume sitting in their customary spot on the roof of the Gotham City bank. Tim was in his Red Robin costume with criss crossing belts and a dark red domino mask. Dick was dressed in his much simpler Nightwing costume, all black woven kevlar and and a simpler domino. It was a cold night and they had just finished their respective patrols and were parked on the roof with half a dozen chilli dogs and the slowly rising sun to keep them company.

“Sorry, sorry!” Dick gasped, slowly catching his breath. “It’s just sort of cute!”

“It’s not cute!” Tim argued, exhaustion overtaking him. “He’s everywhere! It’s like every time I turn around, there is Damian being alternately scathing or friendly. It’s like I don’t even know which way is up anymore. Hell has thawed and heaven has fallen,” Tim moped.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Dick frowned at Tim in a chiding way, an expression Dick seemed to have mastered during his years mentoring first the Titans and then Damian.

“I guess not. It’s just weird. I don’t know what he wants or how to react to him,” Tim responded in a tired voice. He forlornly flicked relish off the top of his dog and down onto the street far far below.

“Did he really say you’re his greatest rival?” Dick asked. Tim could tell Dick was raising his eyebrows even with the Domino. The original Robin had a very expressive face.

“Yeah, verbatim,” Tim responded blankly. “How does me being his rival mean he has to share an interest with me? He’s like a riddle wrapped in an enigma.”

“Swaddled in a conundrum?” Dick asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Tim sighed heavily. “If you know anything, please tell me, or I’m just going to go home,” Tim said heavily.

Dick’s expression sobered as he brought himself back under control. “If you want my honest opinion,” Dick said, “I absolutely wouldn’t worry about it. Trust me, when he says ‘You’re my greatest rival,’ he really means ‘I love you’. It’s, like, the best compliment he can pay anyone in his mind,” Dick explained nonchalantly.

“I love you?” Tim repeated incredulously.

“Yeah!” Dick enthused. “I think our littlest Robin has finally developed his first crush,” Dick said with an exaggerated wink.

* * *

Tim was lying face down on his bed later that day. He had canceled all of his appointments to indulge himself in a true sulk. It was unlike him, but he felt sure that anyone who had met Damian even briefly would understand if he explained that the little hell beast had developed a crush on him.

It was almost noon and Tim had been up all night on patrol and then talking with Dick, but he still wasn’t able to fall asleep. The problem of what to do with Damian wouldn’t leave his mind and Tim couldn’t think of any possible solutions that didn’t end with Damian going back to hating him more than ever.

The sound of the back door opening and closing brought Tim’s head up curiously. He had gone to great lengths to make sure nobody would come over today, to the extent of telling everyone he was violently ill. He looked worn out enough that he thought it would be believable.

Curious, Tim pushed himself out of bed, his worn muscles protesting the whole way, and stumbled and grumbled down the stairs and into his kitchen. There, he found Damian perched on his kitchen counter much as he was the first time he had left himself into Tim’s kitchen. Damian already had his phone out and his white earbuds held in one hand. Instead of a box of pastries, there was a delicious smelling white paper bag that smelled of take out in the form of something greasy, if Tim’s nose was not mistaken.

“You can’t keep letting yourself in like this,” Tim grouched from the doorway.

Damian, amazingly and politely, put away his phone and jumped down off the counter. He picked up the take out bag and carried it over to the table.

“Your locks are paltry at best. I am teaching you a lesson about how easy they are to crack,” Damian returned. He opened the bag and started to pull out foil wrapped burgers and boxes of fries covered in greasy napkins. “Alfred said you were sick with some bug or another. You need sustenance if you’re to return to fighting fit quickly enough.”

“I’m not actually sick,” Tim found himself confessing to Damian without any forethought. A small part of him was kicking and squealing to not tell Damian anything, that the current Robin was not to be trusted! But, the larger part of him was tired of resisting Damian’s tireless overtures toward friendship. It was probably much easier to just give in.

Damian arched a heavy black eyebrow at Tim and turned a keen eye toward him. He crossed his arms and regarded the older vigilante easily. “You lied to Pennyworth,” he said slowly, rolling the words around in his mouth like a fine wine. “I don’t know whether to be mortified or impressed,” he added with a cruel looking smile.

Tim pressed a hand to his forehead and cringed. He didn’t want Damian to be impressed by his wily nature or whatever the young hero was currently doing. He just wanted to be honest with him.

“I pretended to be sick so I could take a break and think about something very seriously,” Tim said sharply. “I talked to Dick last night,” Tim added in a more even tone. “About you.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed further, his expression turning to one of open suspicion.

“He suggested that you might ...” Tim waved a hand in the air, hoping that a subtle and inoffensive word would come to him, but none were forthcoming. “have a crush on me,” Tim finished lamely. He watched Damian expectantly for a reply.

Damian seemed frozen for a single moment, before his face turned pink. This would have been cute if his face didn’t keep getting darker until it moved completely past red and into the spectrum of purple.

“What slander!” Damian eventually sputtered. “ How dare - What vile - That plebian -”

Tim held his hands up to indicate he didn’t mean the suggestion as an attack and took a hesitant step forward. He knew he had to do something before Damian exploded with outrage and maybe hunted Dick down and put a shuriken in his back, but he wasn’t sure what to say.

“That’s just what Dick thought! You know how he is,” Tim said as placatingly as he could. Tim thought that might have slowed the sputtering down a little, but Damian still looked purple. “I mean, if you say you don’t, I believe you. It’s pretty far fetched anyway, right?” Tim laughed nervously.

“Absolutely!” Damian yelled back before turning abruptly away from Tim and putting his face in his hands. Damian’s shoulders rose and fell quickly and Tim thought for one terrifying moment that Damian might be crying. But, before Tim could talk himself into patting the smaller vigilante on the back or something else equally terrible, Damian turned around and looked much more composed, his skin mostly back to its regular color save for a few blotchy marks here and there. “It is absolutely the most ‘far fetched’ thing I have ever heard,” Damian finished, the air quotes clearly enunciated even if they weren’t acted out.

“Right, I agree,” Tim said quickly. “But, I was serious about how I can’t have you dropping in all the time,” Tim added. Damian’s face darkened again in what Tim thought might be hurt. “I was thinking more of, like, scheduling a regular meet up,” Tim suggested gently.

Damian frowned in confusion at the other Robin. “You mean like what you and Grayson have with the chilli dogs?” Damian asked slowly.

“How do you -” Tim started ask, that creeping feeling of being stalked coming back. He quickly stamped it down. “Nevermind. Yes, I mean exactly like that.”

Damian smiled back at Tim and it looked just the smallest bit pleasant. “That sounds perfect,” he replied. “I’ll meet you on the roof of the Gotham City Bank Tuesday mornings at 3 am,” Damian said confidently. He snatched a foil wrapped burger off of the table and turned on his heel to leave.

The young Robin paused in the doorway of the kitchen and looked over his shoulder at Tim. Tim swallowed around a lump in his throat at the evaluating look that Damian gave him.

“If you’re late, I’ll find you,” Damian said solemnly, before disappearing through the door as eerily quietly as he had entered.

Tim was left standing awkwardly in his kitchen in a t-shirt and boxers with a pile of greasy diner food on his kitchen table hoping he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure, I don't really know anything about insider trading or French pastries. That information came mostly from the googles, so it might not be super correct.
> 
> Otherwise, I hope everyone enjoys this story! I appreciate every comment, kudos and view, so thanks in advance to everyone!


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